


Things are changing

by asgardianthot



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes gets a makeover, Bucky punches a bigot, Captain Falcon - Freeform, Declarations Of Love, Homophobic Language, Idiots in Love, M/M, Partners to Lovers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Racism, Sam cuts Bucky's hair, Undercover Missions, censored slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21363310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardianthot/pseuds/asgardianthot
Summary: Sam and Bucky have an undercover mission going terribly, and concealed feelings ready to burst.A salad of the following tropes: Sam cutting Bucky’s hair, undercover mission, ‘The new captain America’ debate and bigots and Bucky having no time for bigots, idiots to lovers.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 128





	Things are changing

**Author's Note:**

> TW: explicit racism, homophobia, censored slurs

Bucky peaked into the common area where Sam focused on his laptop, a pair of scissors in his metal hand, “Could you help me?”

Sam looked up from the screen and couldn’t help a smile from appearing in his features. He closed the device and followed the man into the bathroom, walking in with him.

After telling Bucky to sit, not as an order but more as a ‘get comfortable’ offer, the soldier did so on top of the toilet seat cover. Sam was happy to help, even though the way his chest felt when his hands ran through the brunette locks, while visualizing where to cut, made the experience difficult. Bucky didn’t stare at himself in the mirror as much as anyone would. He portrayed an image of something close to shame, just staring down to the floor as if the mirror wasn’t right there facing his left side.

“You’re gonna dye it as well?” Sam asked, working on the front of his hairline, where the falling strands framed Bucky’s face.

“Do I have to?”

The words came out in a way that Wilson understood this had nothing to do with Barnes’ voluntary decision-making. He wished the man in front of him had had the time to change his image on his own willing process, because he had the motivation to do so. Instead, he’d been rushed into it by SHIELD, in hopes that the people at the event they would be attending wouldn’t recognize the former Winter Soldier.

So, hiding the sadness behind his words, Sam shook his head, “No, you don’t.”

Bucky reflected on it, though. Perhaps he could dye it. He’d look good in black. _Darker_ suits him. However he decided he would shave first, and then see if he had the guts to dye it; even if he knew for a fact, he wouldn’t do it.

The haircut was working pretty well, not much conversation exchanged except for Sam’s small laughs whenever Bucky would sneeze or complain about hair falling into his face and nose. If they had a better way with words, Sam would have described the scene as intimate. However the position in which the two were getting it done began turning uncomfortable when Sam bumped against the shower trying to reach the back of his head.

“Wait.” Sam said as he put the scissors down in order to leave the bathroom.

He fetched a chair and dragged it inside, planting it in front of the sink and facing the mirror. Bucky sat there, almost forced to look at himself and the way his mane didn’t fall on his face anymore. Minutes later, Sam was already running the machine though Bucky’s nape, smoothing the haircut on the back of his head. One could say it was coming together. Nevertheless, there was still that familiar knot in his stomach as he cleaned some loose strands of hairs from his skin. His fingertips burned against the back of his neck, bumpy with recently cut hair and leaving every pore out in the open.

The funny part was, it was Bucky who was getting goosebumps all over his neck. Sam figured it was because he wasn’t used to air hitting him there unless he had his hair in a bun.

The veteran stared at the reflection of the new man in the mirror, Bucky doing so as well. It appeared like the ‘process’ Sam kept thinking about was taking place right there.

“Looks good.” Wilson spoke, breaking the silence.

“You think so?” Barnes asked genuinely.

There was a sensation of an aching heart taking over Sam’s body. Of course he thought so. He didn’t just look good, he looked awfully handsome. Shaking the thought away, he reached for the razor in the counter by the sink.

Yet Bucky somewhat attempted to stop him, “I can shave myself.”

A smirk settled itself on Sam’s features.

“I like playing barber.” He joked, getting the shaving foam, “Now turn.”

The man on the chair almost rolled his eyes, merely showing the smallest hint of amusement. He usually would have comeback with something funny and mildly aggressive, but it was like he’d had his wit stripped away during the transformation.

While Sam rubbed the white foam on the lower part of the soldier’s face, the latter just looked at a random spot in the shower curtain for the longest time. It felt oddly wrong to be caressing his jawline like that, knowing what it provoked in Sam. But Bucky never seemed to notice the way Sam looked at him. Still, Wilson tried to just get it done quickly and assist with the whole makeover as much as he could.

“All done.” He announced as he shut the water running from the sink rather dramatically, once he had finished with Bucky’s face.

Barnes didn’t even bother to turn his entire body. He faced the mirror frontally, and proceeded to look at himself for way too long. From afar, it looked almost like he didn’t recognize himself. That enigma was what Sam was trying to decipher; what went on in Bucky’s head. _Too long_, they stayed like that, until Sam broke the tension.

“You like it?”

Bucky didn’t exactly flinch, “Yeah.”

Yet his reaction didn’t change one bit. Perhaps, Sam believed, he was lying.

“Bucky.” He pushed a little.

And Bucky raised his eyebrows without moving an inch, as if he were surprised at what he was seeing, before letting out a relaxed breath, “That’s Bucky, alright.”

_Oh._

Sam understood what he was trying to communicate. That, was how he used to look, before Hydra, before the Winter Soldier. The short hair, the clean face.

_Oh! Good. That’s Bucky, alright._

A smile propped up in the Falcon’s face. Continuingly, and feeling pretty victorious, he handed the man a towel for him to get cleaned, and then walked out.

“Thanks.” Bucky stopped him, and Sam was faced with genuine gratefulness in blue eyes when he turned to face him.

“No problem.” He offered another kind grin.

The mission was that night.

SHIELD had figured out that the head of a dealing network who had been working for personalities and big companies was, quoting the new head of assignments, “not too shy in public anymore”. He would effectively be attending a Washington gala, one the pair would infiltrate. All they needed to do was overhear information about the deals and distract the big fishes as much as they could, make them feel safe enough so that when they’d leave, Wilson and Barnes would be able to follow the car.

It was now or never.

The reason why Bucky had to get a makeover was to lower the chances of being recognized. Losing the signature facial and long hair, dressed in a tux and acting low profile, he should be playing a perfect cover. People hardly ever recognized him before, anyway.

On his part, Sam wouldn’t be going undercover because there was absolutely no way for him to pretend _he’s not who he is_. The possibility of the attendants not recognizing him was gone since the press couldn’t stop talking about him: The Falcon, Captain America’s former companion, now carrying the shield in public missions ever since Rogers went off radar.

As a matter of fact, the public had passionately began calling him _Captain Falcon_, or simply _‘The New Captain America’_.

It was, undoubtedly, stirring up quite some debate. And it had nothing to do with the former problems the public opinion had had with the Avengers, no, it was about his worthiness of the title. They specifically enjoyed comparing him with Steve: A war hero from WWII injected with super serum, took down Nazis and saved hundreds of soldier’s lives. _America’s savior_. Versus, just a guy born in Harlem. Same city as Rogers, different background. Both of them born into proud parents, who were members of the community, respected fellas, yet lacking riches.

_“He’s a war hero, as well; did two tours in Afghanistan.”_

_“Afghanistan isn’t Nazi Germany.”_

_“You’re right, it’s worse!”_

That was a good example, a very representative discussion aired in a morning newscasters.

_“The guy ran support groups for veterans. He was a hero before he joined the Avengers.”_

_“All I’m saying is he’s got some big shoes to fill. Rogers has been the prime image of American strength for almost a century.”_

_“A war veteran counselor isn’t?”_

So it went on, during weeks of _mute conversations_. That’s what that was; people tried saying what they meant without actually speaking the words. Those dialogues weren’t about the two character’s history, instead they were about the image that they sold. On one side, blonde kid born in poverty and illness turns national hero thanks to the government. On the other side, black boy born in poverty represents the American Dream. Which poster boy they preferred selling, was up to politics.

If Steve and Sam were put in front of a TV to listen to crappy reporters comparing them, they would have laughed hysterically and resumed their day.

So, no, Sam couldn’t go undercover. He would instead use the fuzz to his favor and become a distraction while Bucky worked from the shadows of discretion.

-

“Sam, come on, hurry up.” Bucky knocked at his door.

The Falcon was supposed to make an entrance before him, so that he’d go unnoticed. In order for that to happen, the man needed to actually leave the compound. Until that happened, Bucky was stuck there, all dressed up in a classy two-piece suit and putting on the dressing gloves that would hide the metal hand.

“Beauty takes time, baby.” Sam mocked his coworker from behind the structure between them.

He soon opened the door to his room, applying the last touches of cologne on his neck. The smug look of his face faded the second the soldier was presented to him. It was one thing to see him flaunting his new look, but the tux and the tie, the way it not only made him look fancy but also accentuated his figure, and just the manner in which that deep navy blue color collided with Bucky’s eyes, was very different. Very mesmerizing.

It had Sam stopping in his tracks and failing to conceal his reaction.

“You need to get going.” Bucky reminded him.

Sam blinked a few times to get himself back to firm land. It was almost like in cartoons, when the character would blink furiously and no matter how much he tried, the fantasy wasn’t fading away, leading them to know it wasn’t a fantasy. This was pretty much it, only much less dramatic.

“Yeah.” Sam looked down, embarrassed and furrowing his brows, “You’re right. How do I look?”

Bucky did his absolute best not to be snarky. It was hard not to, when he felt all funny inside whenever Wilson made comments about his own appearance; he loved calling himself handsome, showing off his muscles after training, joke about his own butt and thighs being a God given treasure. He would flash film star smiles without even trying, that cheeky face reaching out for everyone’s heart to swoon, and Bucky would just stare, feeling like he shouldn’t be thinking about it. Instead of agreeing with Sam’s playful self-admiration, which _holy hell he did_, he would mock the man’s ego or something similar, burying his drooling enchantment deep down in his gut.

This time, though, it wasn’t like that. He took one good look at the classical attire, the black jacket and pants, black tie and blindingly white silk shirt peeking through his chest, he took in the way it fit Sam like he had been born to wear that, and he was honest. Honest, yet in no way disclosing his melting inside.

He gifted Wilson a professional smile, “Like the star of the show.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment. He was, indeed, the star of the show for the sake of the mission, and that’s how Sam interpreted it. Had he known, nonetheless, the real thought process behind those words.

-

Sam made sure the earpiece worked from the moment he set foot in his car, he had only to press his fingers in any way that he could without making it noticeable and his voice would ring through Bucky’s ears. As soon as he had arrived there, small groups of personalities approached him, all eager to shake Samuel Wilson’s hand, make their names known to him. It was easier than he had thought, getting people’s attention, maybe even too easy. He wasn’t used to the fame.

Not twenty minutes later, Bucky went in with the fake identification SHIELD had provided, acting as he had been told to; low profile, yet not creepy. Silent, yet not like he was sneaking out. After all, he wasn’t sure he could have played a different part, let alone an eccentric, participative one. That was Sam’s forte. He spotted their target immediately: _Christian Brinkmann. Big bad guy._

Glad that the mission had set its course, Wilson excused himself and announced he would be going out for some fresh air to some people; when others asked, he said he would be going out for a smoke. He immediately took advantage of the fuzz taking place at the outer exit and reached for his earpiece.

“Get his phone.” He murmured to Bucky’s communication device, “He’s been checking it since I got here, keeps it in his jacket. Easy extract.”

He quickly heard his partner clear his throat through the earpiece, letting Sam know he had heard him loud and clear.

-

The ‘star of the show’ as Bucky had described him, was indeed getting loads of attention. TV anchors and actors kept introducing themselves and taking pictures with him. A few worn out business men had actually asked light to rough questions about SHIELD and the Accords. There was, at one point, one shady comment about the former fugitive scandal. Everyone listening, including Sam, simply laughed it off.

From the other side of the room, Bucky gave into his whim and eyed him. He couldn’t stop ogling how comfortable he was around crowds.

Wilson’s maneuvers were taking a toll on his dignity, but he kept playing the part. He didn’t need to pretend in order to give out sassy comebacks to dumb conversations, so whenever he had the chance, that’s what he did. One specific actor or whatever with whom he’d been talking for a while was shameless enough to engage in a passionate discussion about working out. Comparing gym routines with an Avenger seemed to be something he had prepared for his entire career.

Another girl stepped into the group, a beautiful brunette that looked like she was in the entertainment industry stuck around for a lot longer while than the others. She was flirting.

“Is it _Captain Falcon_, then?” she asked with a false condescending tone, doing her best to show her interest.

He smirked down at her, “You like _Captain Falcon_?” She nodded, storing her phone which had so far been in her hand, inside her jacket, “Then that’s what you call me.”

He was flirting back. And somehow, his instinct had him searching for Bucky with his eyes. The actively undercover man was standing near a cocktail table, drinking, and probably overhearing people talking. It was a very useful thing that the serum didn’t allow him to get drunk, so he could keep ordering drinks and keep himself busy, avoiding suspicions.

Eventually, the girl told Sam to follow her to the bar, so she grabbed his hand and dragged both of them across the big room. They ended up standing fairly close to Bucky, and when the latter noticed the couple, he felt oddly wrong. He knew Wilson was just playing the part, but for some reason, he felt the urge to overhear them. Perhaps fortunately, he wasn’t able to, because they were too far and in a very noisy spot.

“So…” she ran her hands down the black tie resting on his chest, “Does Captain Falcon like to have fun?”

He raised his eyebrows and spoke in a low tone, “What kind of fun?”

She rolled her eyes, a cheeky smile on her face, “The non-avenging type.” She whispered before exaggeratedly itching the side of her nose for explaining purposes.

He hid his disappointment as best as he could, “Maybe later, doll.”

Soon enough he started feeling like a party trick prop, all of a sudden. All the faces trying to get to him, to be seen with him, they began to weight on him.

Luckily, he had a way out when his earpiece ran with Bucky’s voice. _Hallway B_. He made his way there, yet his arm was immediately yanked by someone who pulled him behind a door and into a closed staircase. Bucky stared into his eyes, a noticeable hint of fear behind his pupils.

“What are you doing?” Sam scolded him, trying not to raise his voice so that no attention would be brought towards the exit stairs.

“I can’t do this.” Barnes said honestly, shaking his head. Defeated.

Sam didn’t mean to fight him on it, but the guy was literally a master spy. Whatever that was stopping him couldn’t be any worse than plain performance fright.

He tilted his head, “Yes, you can.”

“It’s been an hour, I’m not getting anywhere near this guy.” Bucky insisted, clear lack of self-confidence hearable, along with some desperation.

“Then think of something!” he whisper-shouted, then returned to a calmer state, gathering a deep sigh, “Look, there’s no time to tap it and put it back. Get the phone, take the chip out. We’ll get all the info later, but for now, we can’t let him escape.”

The easy instructions somewhat calmed Bucky a bit, so he nodded. Wilson followed by placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, which made him relax.

“You got this, okay?” Sam soothed him, pressing his other hand to the side of Bucky’s head.

Soon the exchange didn’t relax Bucky as much as it made him freeze on the spot. It was too intimate; both of his hands keeping him close, keeping him supported, and their eyes locked. Only then he noticed how close their bodies were. The feelings were coming back, those he couldn’t explain. _Not this again._

“You’re a great agent.” Wilson reminded him, “You’ll do fine.”

Bucky gathered enough strength to nod. Accept the comfort. Realize he might be right. He could do this. He managed to step away, getting Sam’s hands off of him, not in an awkward way, but leaving in a certainly awkward way.

“Bucky, wait.” Sam stopped him in his tracks, getting him to turn; so Sam stepped closer to him. “Your tie’s crooked.”

The man looked down to find his tie, resting not too proudly nor gracefully, as his partner had mentioned.

“Let me.” Sam offered, getting the fabric between his fingers.

He placed his hand over the clothing item once he had finished fixing its presentation, letting him know that he could step back now, yet Bucky physically couldn’t. Every short second Wilson had spent focused on the tie, Bucky had lost himself in his hazel eyes, so that when both of Sam’s arms rested at his sides, ready to part his way, Barnes stood still. And when Sam stared forward, he found some pretty intense orbs gazing into his own.

In right timing, the sound of footsteps from a few floors below forced them to spread, Bucky exiting first, then Sam, returning to the gala as if they hadn’t ever bumped paths.

With his newly set motivation, thanks to Sam’s pep talk, Bucky was quick to spot Brinkmann and analyze his surroundings. There were two men and a woman stuck to his side, the lady seeming more as a date than anything else, by the way _big scary man_ acted towards her. An imaginary lightbulb above Bucky’s head lit up, and he proceeded by grabbing an abandoned glass of what looked like a cranberry martini or something similar, given by the color. He took one last glance at how eagerly the man checked his phone, and specifically the pocket in which he kept it.

Chanting eureka in his head, he walked up to the four of them, all the while he pretended to be focused on something or someone on the opposite side of the room. It was a matter of seconds before he was able to collide into the group, falsely missing where he was going, and pouring the reddish, purply drink over the woman accompanying Brinkmann.

“I’m so sorry!” he let out, a symphony of gasps around him, “Oh my god-“

In the second in which everyone gawked at the ruined dress, Barnes pulled the phone from the man’s pocket and slid it on the back pocket of his own pants. The woman was petrified.

“I can’t believe- I’m so, so sorry.” He continued the farce.

Brinkmann raised his eyebrows, seemingly unimpressed, “That’s gonna leave a stain.” He mocked.

His date faced him, and forced a cynical smile onto her features, yet was unable –or maybe unwilling– to conceal her deadly stare.

“Yes.” She straightened up, “Yes, it will.”

As she turned around, Bucky felt how deep down, he was seriously sorry for doing that; it looked like an expensive dress, it most likely wouldn’t wash off and she would have to go home early, humiliated. Once Sam found out, he would tell Bucky _he’s the worst_.

Bucky pretended to try and stop her, “Can I-?” yet seeing how she was already gone, he sighed and shook his head before turning on his heels, embarrassed.

He made sure to continue the shameful walk until he reached the bar, where he stole a quick glance in the target’s direction; he wasn’t leaving with his date. That was good. He had time. He rushed to order something to the barman, then rested his back against the counter and reached into his back pocket for the phone.

“Did I just see you pour a drink over Brinkmann‘s date?” a sudden voice made him jump minimally.

Bucky put the device in the big pocket of his jacket, and had a good look at the man that approached him. Generic face, ugly nose like it had been broken a few times, average looking fella, dark hair, and fancy-looking suit. He didn’t look familiar.

“Yeah,” he answered with a fake awkward smile, letting out some air, “I feel terrible. I probably ruined the dress for good, poor gal.”

“You don’t know who that is, do you?” the man squinted his eyes, some amusement clearly shown.

Bucky put up a frown, “Who, the guy with her?” he asked innocently, awfully nervous about the way his own hand fidgeted inside his pocket.

The guy gestured the bartender for a specific drink with his fingers and turned back to the undercover spy, “Let’s just say you’re lucky she’s just an escort. Had he actually cared, your head would be on a stick.”

Bucky nodded, like this was his first time hearing it, “Powerful guy. You know him?”

“Work for him.” He said easily.

Bucky’s muscles tensed. There was no reason for this man to be lying about it. Most people at this sort of events knew who Brinkmann was and who he was seen around with. The way he spoke sounded like he had nothing to lose, which only came to Bucky’s mind, he actually hadn’t. Therefore, the only one at risk in this situation was himself. On the other hand, interacting this close to one of them was an objectively good opportunity, one he couldn’t miss. The problem was, he had to destabilize the stolen phone right there next to him.

“Thought I’d come and let you know your name’s not on a hit list, you know, be nice.” The man explained, “But I guess you weren’t worried.”

Barnes flashed a smile, “Maybe now I am.” He joked lightly, all the while he tried to get the cover off the phone with one hand.

Ugly nose fella took a sip from his recently poured drink, eyeing Barnes from the side, suspiciously. Of course, he had never seen Bucky’s face, and he was all alone. No ‘nobody’ showed up alone to these things. He rested his forearms against the counter, both bodies way too close and contemplating the horde of people.

“You talked to him yet?” the guy asked, randomly.

“Who?”

By now, Barnes was sweating_. Can’t get the fucking phone open_. And he couldn’t just leave, it would be even more suspicious. Any second now, that thing would ring, or Brinkmann would notice it missing and track it back to Bucky’s jacket.

“Captain America.” He explained, making Barnes realize the Avenger himself was engaging in a conversation right across the room from them, “Or so they call him.”

The way he spat the title made it clear he wasn’t a fan.

“Right. Haven’t had the pleasure.” Bucky improvised, and when he felt being stared at, he attempted to make conversation in order to take the attention off of the maneuvering, “You don’t like the hero thing?”

“I don’t like the guy.” He snorted, “Comes here, uninvited, the host shakes his hand like he’s got the key to the city or something. He plays it like he’s some sort of superstar.”

There was an inevitable small smile creeping its way into Bucky’s face, luckily unseen by anyone else. That fame and glamour and charm _was_ the Captain trademark, alright.

“Wasn’t Rogers pretty much the same?” he mentionned truthfully.

“Nah, that guy I respected, you know?” the man was quick to sound disgusted with the comparison. “This one, I think it’s a publicity stunt.”

It didn’t make much sense. Steve literally began as a publicity stunt, Bucky remembered. Captain America was literally born as a movie star to get people to buy bonds for the war. Bucky nonetheless bit the inside of his cheek as he was too focused on his hidden task. He finally got the case open and was able to pull the chip out, thus disabling the phone.

By the time his attention was back on the guy, he was rambling on something that had Bucky taken aback, “They wanna sell us something, ‘s why they picked the black guy out of all.”

Barnes froze entirely. His jaw clenched.

“Ya think so?” he asked, cold and distant, unable to fake _that_ argument.

“Yeah, man, look at him.” The dark haired man chuckled, “That look like a Captain America to you?”

Something very deep inside –and also something very shallow in him- wanted to kill this man, no thought-process needed. But he had to remain in the part. He couldn’t blow out his cover.

“I guess I don’t know.” He was able to speak without much hate, concealing all emotion from his voice, “Haven’t paid much attention to the debate.” He then smiled and took a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know, the whole thing reeks of politics. I actually heard from a friend he’s, you know…”

“What?” the rash question slipped off Bucky’s mouth with anger.

“A bit of a _queer eye_.” The guy explained, condescendingly, “And I mean, you look at him for a while, it starts to make sense.”

Barnes gripped the glass in his right hand impossibly tighter before breaking it. A few more seconds of clenching teeth together that hard and he would start yelling some truths.

“Tell me, look at him.” The guy seemed to completely miss Bucky’s discomfort as he insisted, his smile growing bigger like a jokester frat kid. “Look at him for a minute, tell me he doesn’t look like a fairy to you.”

Bucky shut his eyes for a mere second. _This can’t be happening_. His whole cover depended on him nodding to a dirty bigot insulting Sam, and his patience was hanging by a thread. He tried to focus on steadying his breaths but the burning in his stomach wasn’t going away.

“Look at him, come on!” The man elbowed Bucky’s arm, “If you had to guess, wouldn’t you say he’s one of those?”

“Sure.” Barnes let out, unconvincing, “Maybe.”

“Yeah!”

Brinkmann’s minion chuckled, trying to get Bucky to laugh with him as if they were buddies. Bonding over good ol’ problematic opinions. The spy’s blood was boiling, his palms sweating, his ears ringing. He knew his feelings had gotten in the way. He knew he couldn’t bottle it up for much longer.

“So how about that?” the man began once again.

The following words were strong enough for Bucky to lose it. The following words were bad enough that he couldn’t repeat them. What the following words provoked was all that bottled fury to reach a limit point, a very quickly reached point, fierce enough to make Bucky lift his fist in the air and crash it against the guy’s jaw, with such momentum, it made him fall and land on his back.

The punch caught the environment’s attention, the guests’ eyes flying to the scene and their hands flying to their mouths. Soon enough, pretty much everyone in that ballroom was staring. Two security guards ran to the scene where Bucky was ready to hit the bigot again, and that was when a very attentive Sam locked eyes with him. Fully aware of the mess he had made, of how much he had fucked up, Barnes walked out before he could be escorted by security. All while every eye followed him.

Once people drifted to focus on either the attacked man or to resuming their previous conversations, Wilson found a second to slip away and head to the parking.

When Sam reached the car he knew to be Bucky’s, the ashamed man was sitting inside it, his head resting back on the seat, his eyes closed. He was cooling off, breathing in and out, but as much as he tried to punish himself by thinking how he should have gone along with the offensive conversation, he knew deep down, there was no way he could have possibly held back after what he heard:

_Not only is the new Cap a ‘n’ word but he’s also a ‘f’ word._

That’s what he’d told Bucky. Of course, the guy had had the audacity to actually articulate the full slurs.

Sam opened the co-pilot’s seat door and sat next to the wallowing man, shutting the door as lightly as his rage allowed him.

“What the hell was that?” he spat.

“Sorry.” Bucky sighed, “I got the phone, though.”

“You blew your cover is what you did! I can’t believe you.”

There was such disappointment in Sam’s tone, Bucky felt like rotting inside. Sam was questioning his self-control, or rather accusing him of having none when he clearly trusted him. Before Bucky had suckerpunched a potential prisoner, that is.

“I know.” The spy shut his eyes and breathed through his nose, just as disappointed in himself, “He just got on my nerves.”

“What could possibly justify you beating a man in the middle of a gala?” Sam kept scolding him, “In front of everyone we were spying on, on the _one_ night we have to catch this bastard?”

As Bucky stared at the deserted parking ahead, the empty and expensive cars, and the exit, he thought about not telling him. Perhaps he didn’t need to justify his actions, but simply live up to his guilt. However something deep inside him felt like Sam deserved the truth.

He took a deep breath and addressed his partner without facing him, “He called you something I can’t really say out loud.” He explained, then tilting his head with shame, “And something I _technically can_ but, believe me, I won’t.”

A frown took over Wilson’s features. The sentence was rather confusing. But after some thinking, he understood what he meant by ‘something I can’t say out loud’ and his frown faded, leaving room for a perfectly concealed look of frustration. Then, the question of what he meant by ‘something I technically can’ hit him right in the head. He knew Bucky to have been into men. He knew the stories. More importantly, Sam knew himself to have feelings for Bucky and therefore, qualifying for that kind of slur.

Fully understanding what had pushed Barnes to attack, Sam faced forward and steadied his expression.

“I don’t need you to defend me.” The Falcon let out in rough seriousness.

“You’re not defending yourself.” Bucky jumped to his own justification, suddenly feeling like they could discuss the injustices spoken in Sam’s name, “Do you hear what people are saying about you? Doesn’t it bother you?”

Wilson had no choice but to process the interpellation as judgement. Which is why he also had no choice but to snap in anger.

“That’s none of your business.” He said, rather loudly, before opening the car door and stepping out of it, “Go back. I got this.”

“Sam.” Barnes begged with sadness, ready to apologize.

Sam repeated the order, firmly, “Go back.”

-

Once inside the compound, Bucky got rid of his gloves and jacket. He left the dismantled phone on a nearby counter before losing the tie and stepping off his shoes. He decided to wait for Sam while laying back on the couch. All he could feel besides the mild exhaustion was worry; Sam might have gone after Brinkmann alone. He tried paging Wilson, but it was no use. There was no response. Running a hand down his face, he planted himself on the common area where he would wait as long as necessary. Unfortunately, his tired body made him shut his eyes for a second, and by the time he opened them, he didn’t know for how long he’d been asleep. Perhaps he had missed Sam’s entrance.

He was growing paranoid, so he went up to Sam’s room, only to find it empty. When he turned to head back down, though, he saw the elevator doors open, revealing the man he had been stressing over.

“Hey.” Sam said in a low voice, stepping out of the elevator and not making eye contact.

“What happened?” Bucky asked frantically.

“We lost Brinkmann, that’s what happened.” He replied without an ounce of tact.

Bucky’s eyes shut tight with frustration. This was all his fault. When Wilson went into his room, Barnes followed him.

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

“_You don’t get to lecture me,_” the man snapped without any warning, “about what I do or don’t do regarding people’s opinions on me.” An upset frown took over his face, almost surprised at Bucky’s previous actions, “I know what the news think of me, I’ve known all my life.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“You have no say in me defending myself or not.” Sam cut him off. "I know what they’re saying. You want me to go on Morning America and play friendly monkey for them to accept me? Is that what you want me to do? Or defend every single person with my skin tone on live TV? Maybe that’s what you were expecting.”

Bucky swallowed hard. Of course Sam was right. Of course it wasn’t Bucky’s business what Sam did with the public opinion, because Bucky would never understand. And he felt awfully selfish for missing that point at the gala and later in the parking.

“No.” Barnes said, his head hanging low.

“Then don’t tell me what I already know.”

Sam proceeded to stand near his bed and slipping off his jacket, in complete silence. All that could be heard were their breaths and the rough fabric grazing Sam’s silk shirt.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky let out in the mid quiet, “Honestly.”

Dropping his jacket on the bed, Sam let out a sigh. He looked down, as if praying for God to pump him with strength. He couldn’t stay mad at Barnes. Not only because he had no ounce of malice when punching that bigot, and he genuinely hadn’t thought it through, but most importantly because Sam cared too much for him, and he couldn’t bear seeing him ashamed.

“I know you are.” He nodded, still not facing the spy, “It’s okay.”

“And I’m sorry for ruining the mission.” Bucky added with absolute honesty, “I know we only had one shot.”

Sam sat down on the mattress and offered him half a grin, “It’s fine. We got the info on his phone, that’s something.”

As much as Bucky felt relieved that Sam wasn’t upset, he felt like he deserved to get scolded. He had messed up the operation and Sam had every right to be angry. He thought about how the veteran was always so unjustly _good_ to him.

“Don’t be nice about it, I screwed up.” Barnes shook his head.

“There’s always another chance.”

“Look, it was my fault.” He insisted, “You’re too easy on me. Be honest.”

Wilson opened his mouth, clueless, and shrugged. After closing it back down, he realized he didn’t have any lingering disappointment towards Bucky in his system. He didn’t want to fight him.

“It’s okay.” Sam said.

“No, it’s not.” Bucky’s voice raised a bit.

Sam found himself in a bit of a dilemma. As much as he wanted to get Bucky off the hook, he knew the man felt guilty and needed that acknowledged. So Sam wanted to tell Barnes what he wanted to hear, yet also wanted to end the tension.

Thankfully, Bucky spoke again to derail Wilson’s dilemma.

“Don’t… take pity on me, please.” His voice turned out sadder than he’d hoped, “Not you.”

Sam’s heart sunk. That was what everyone else felt. What everyone else saw: a victim. A poor guy with a tragic past. He needed Sam to see more than just _pathetic_. Wanted Sam to see him for what he was. And Sam, on his part, didn’t take pity on him, he never had. He simply felt too much for him to ever want to make him feel bad.

Barnes breathed through the silence and insisted on the clarification. “Just… not you.”

Eventually, Sam couldn’t help his own limbs nor his heart pounding in his chest. If there had ever been a right moment for spilling his feelings, this was it. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t speak and appease Bucky’s sorrow.

So he stood up and with one rush of strength he quickly approached the man, grabbed his now clean shaven face, and planted a deep kiss onto his lips. At first, Bucky was shocked, the somewhat disbelief of knowing Sam reciprocated his feelings disqualifying him to close his eyes. Given the lack of reaction, Sam stopped and drew his face further from Bucky’s, proceeding to stare deep into his light-colored eyes with questioning ones.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to snap out of his confused trance and launch to kiss Sam back. He placed both of his hands on Wilson’s shoulders while Sam’s palms kept steady cupping the spy’s cheek, caressing him. As their lips deepened the touch, Bucky embraced the man he had been adoring for god knows how long, while the latter brought him closer with a hand on his lower back until they were impossibly closer.

They were already breathing into the kiss when Sam broke it and pressed his forehead against Bucky’s.

“That’s not why I’m nice, you idiot.” Wilson whispered.

“What, you like me or something?” Barnes mocked him, his eyes still shut.

A smirk creeped its way onto Sam’s lips before he kissed the man in his arms again. Hopefully that would get the idea into his thick skull. As they separated to catch their breaths, Barnes ran a finger down the prominent cheekbones on the veteran’s sculpted face.

“Next time, start with that.” He said softly.

“I thought I was being obvious.” Sam raised his eyebrow amusingly.

On their next mission, Sam sent cheeky looks in Bucky’s way, before hiding behind his glass of champagne, and Bucky couldn’t conceal the inevitable smiles that it brought nor the way his face flushed. On their next mission, they were able to follow a lead and chase a car that directed them to take down Brinkmann’s primary net. And when the mission was over, they returned to the compound to heal each other’s wounds.


End file.
